


Triptych

by DyrneKeeper



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyrneKeeper/pseuds/DyrneKeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three missing moments from Wonder-ful, in which Blaine is there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triptych

i.

It’s late when Blaine comes over. 

Kurt can hear him downstairs when Carole lets him in, low murmured voices vibrating up the stairwell, and then familiar footfalls on the stairs. Voices downstairs when he was still in bed had been a part of childhood mornings, his parents up and about before they came to get him up. Comforting and constant, unseen but present. Kurt takes a breath, and curls tighter around his pillow.

“Kurt?” There’s a soft tap on his doorframe, the soft hush of the door cracking open and dragging over the pile of the carpet. 

“Yeah,” Kurt says, and rolls his head up from the pillow. He can’t see the door from here, but he can see movement in his peripheral vision. His voice is scratchy. “You can come in.”

Footsteps on the carpet, a shuffle and pause while Blaine toes his shoes off. The bed dips and a hard warm body presses against his back, an arm snugs itself around Kurt’s waist,and Kurt turns his face back into his pillow because he can’t, he can’t handle comfort right now. The darkness and the aloneness is safe, if he shatters here in the darkness he can put himself together, the breaks will be clean and he knows how the pieces fit, but in Blaine’s arm the fractures will be jagged and naked and cutting and his nerves will break and scream, not just his bones. 

“Please go away.” His voice is pathetic in his own ears, small. Blaine shifts and Kurt’s lungs relax but his heart clenches, he’ll be alone again and safe, as safe as he can be, but Blaine just pulls him tighter and tucks their feet together. 

“Blaine -”

“Shh.” Blaine’s hand finds his and he tangles their fingers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kurt wants to fight; wants to pull away; he doesn’t have the energy to be comforted, to give Blaine a smile and assure him that he’s okay and that Blaine is being good and dutiful and helpful by driving out here so late just to hold him. He doesn’t even have the energy to fight, though, can’t care and can’t pretend to, has no energy left to run and nowhere to even run to. Blaine has followed him all the way down and there is nowhere left to go. Let him stay then, fine. Let him stay.

He breathes into warm linen and drifts, for a long time. He’s dimly aware of the house shuffling itself to sleep, the room going dark when someone turns off the hall light, water running in the bathrooms, doors clicking closed. Then it is finally dark and finally silent and he and Blaine are the only two people in the world and that seizes his chest, that is an awful thought, and he cannot escape the fear of it.

Kurt rolls over under Blaine’s arm and Blaine blinks, not sleepily, at him in the dark. He’s been watching Kurt this whole time, and maybe waiting for this, and Kurt does not have the room in his brain or his heart to think or to feel anything about that at all.

The curve of Blaine’s hip is familiar under his hand, and his skin when Kurt noses into the dip of his throat is warm and spicy-salty. Blaine’s arm tightens around him, and Kurt can feel when he presses a kiss to his hair. It should be soothing , innocent, but it sends a frisson through him, snaps the last threads holding him back. When he breathes again it feels like he’s breathing in Blaine, lips to his skin, the world shrinking to hard collarbone and warm salt.

He throws a leg over Blaine’s and rolls them over, hands closing-and-opening on Blaine’s sides, warm-soft cotton under his hands and he’s hard, they both are. It won’t fix anything and Kurt knows it and doesn’t care, doesn’t want to fix anything. He just wants to forget about it, just for a little while.

Kurt keeps his head down and breathes in Blaine, slides his hands around Blaine’s waist and under his waistband. Blaine’s hands are gentle, patient on the curve of his back, holding him while Kurt gets more frantic, more desperate, and he lifts his head up to see what he’s doing when he starts to undo Blaine’s pants. He gets Blaine’s zipper open and peeled back and then stops, his fingers stuttering on cotton and elastic. Blaine’s hands on the small of his back are warm, and his underwear is blue, and the print is - airplanes. 

The sob, and the force of it, shocks him. Blaine’s arms catch him when he falls, and Kurt presses his face into the curve of Blaine’s neck and cries. Blaine ignores his still-open pants and holds him, cups the back of his head in his hand and tightens his other arm around him.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Blaine’s voice is low and warm and a little wet and Kurt feels it as much as hears it, humming through him as Blaine strokes a hand through his hair. “I’m here, I’m here, I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

Under damp cotton Kurt can feel Blaine’s heart beat, and he presses his ear to his chest to hear it better, a-live, a-live, a-live. 

“It’s going to be okay.”

 

ii.

Blaine gets the text in the middle of calculus: _Blue skies above._

The weight of the sigh nearly collapses his lungs, and he has to just sit there for a moment, hands over his eyes, while he feels relief shudder through him and tries to remember how to breathe . 

_Oh my god,_ he texts back, when Mrs. Dawson’s back is turned, and then can’t think of what else to say, to convey everything he feels, to respond to everything he knows Kurt is feeling. _Oh my god, oh my god._

_I KNOW,_ Kurt’s response comes back, fifteen minutes later. _You’ve got lunch at 12:10, right? I’m driving back to school now - meet you there?_

Blaine glances at the clock, does the math for the timing, replies carelessly and blatantly enough to get a glare from the teacher. _Of course_

When the bell ring he rushes out, pauses to smile-and-wave-and-sorry! at Tina for being about to blow off their plans, and doesn’t bother to pause to put his books back in his locker. 

Kurt is in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of Carole’s car, arms folded and watching the lunchtime traffic boil out of McKinley’s doors. His whole frame is one easy line of grace and when he hears Blaine’s footsteps and turns his head, clean sharp jaw nose forehead, he’s so beautiful Blaine aches with it.

“You’re here!” Kurt’s smile, when he sees him, is wide and bright and real and Blaine had known since the text, but until he felt the smile crack is own face and Kurt threw himself forward into his arms he hadn’t _believed._

“Oh, god, Blaine.” Kurt is vibrating, he’s so excited, his palms grab at Blaine’s back and Blaine can feel them shake.

“How are you?” Blaine pulls his head back to ask, because Kurt is vibrating with excitement but he’s not sure he’s _okay,_ it’s so much feeling. Kurt has always felt so much, and right now Blaine is almost afraid he’s going to fly apart at the seams. 

Kurt lifts his head from Blaine’s shoulder and blinks at him, eyes clear-sky-blue. “I’m - good.” That smile again, wide, bright, clear. “I’m really, really good.”

“Good.” Blaine strokes a hand down his back and then takes a step back. “We should celebrate.”

“Yes,” Kurt nods, and jingles the keys in his hand. He’s still smiling. “Come on, get in.”

In the car Kurt turns over the engine but then sits with his hand on the gear shift, head turned a little to the side. Blaine leans forward because he can’t quite catch Kurt’s eye like that, and when he does Kurt’s eyes flick from the dashboard to him. A smile at the corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, and the glint in Kurt’s eye is a spark. Abruptly Blaine’s arms are full of hard, eager, overexcited boy, and Kurt’s mouth is sudden and slick and tasting of peppermint. 

It’s been two months, is his only excuse. It’s been two months and he’s eighteen and it’s been too much, this day, this week, this year, and when Kurt twists sideways and gets a hand in his hair and makes the kiss wet and dirty Blaine can’t help the moan, and his hands flail and then settle on the back of Kurt’s neck, the dip of his waist. 

Kurt pulls back with a gasp when Blaine nips at the corner of his mouth, and for an instant Blaine’s heart is in freefall. But Kurt’s still smiling brightly and unbuckles his seatbelt, and then Blaine’s, and pushes him into the backseat.

The seats are leather and Blaine’s jeans slip on them a little. Kurt giggles and grabs at his shoulders when Blaine lets himself slide down into the space between the seats, and then his hands are back in Blaine’s hair and he’s tipping his head up for another kiss. Kurt grins against Blaine’s mouth when Blaine’s hands wander down to his waist, to his belt, lower, and Blaine grins back at the little panted gasp he gets when he starts to unfasten Kurt’s pants.

“Oh, fuck, Blaine -” Kurt swears swears prettily and rolls his hips up so Blaine can pull his pants and underwear down. There’s a line of tension between his eyes but he’s smiling when Blaine starts mouthing at the head of his cock. “Shit, oh my god, yes, fuck -”

Blaine sucks and licks and slides his mouth around Kurt’s dick, noses down to his balls and kisses the soft drawn-tight skin there, bites at the join of his thigh while Kurt pants and gasps and twitches above. “Fuck god yes, please don’t stop, oh Blaine oh god -” Blaine is feeling it, the sparky nerviness of too-much-joy in his skin, in the marrow of him, buried and radiating to the surface, and can’t imagine what it feels like to Kurt, so much to someone who feels everything. So he presses a kiss to Kurt’s thigh and sinks his mouth back down, finds Kurt’s hand and lets Kurt fuck his nerves out into Blaine’s mouth.

Kurt whines when he’s close and Blaine pulls off, props himself up with an elbow on the seat and starts jerking him off. He grins when Kurt’s sun-bright eyes spark off his, grins wider when Kurt’s eyes flicker closed and his back arches, his hips arch, and presses his mouth to Kurt’s knee and watches his face as he hisses and comes. Blaine strokes him through it, and when Kurt opens his eyes again his grin is happy, lazy, content.

“Okay,” Kurt says, and reaches for the wet wipes under the seat. His voice is scratchy, and he clears his throat as Blaine takes the wipes from him and cleans him up. “Okay. Your turn.”

“You - really don’t have to -” Blaine says, but he can’t take his eyes off of Kurt’s fingers doing up his pants.

Kurt’s laugh is warm, soft, as he tugs Blaine up on the seat and slides himself down between his legs. He’s glowing, and it’s joyful, not manic, as he undoes Blaine’s belt and gets his zipper down. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, and Blaine can feel his smile when he slides his mouth down over him. 

iii.

They go out for coffee after school again, of course. It’s so easy to fall into old habits and it feels so good to spend afternoons the way they had for years, meeting back in the choir room after rehearsal, walking arm-in-arm out to Blaine’s car. 

It’s not just old habit, though - that’s not quite right. Kurt swings open the back door of the Prius to toss in his bag before he slides into the passenger seat and it doesn’t feel like old times, it just feels like _times._ Blaine puts the car in gear and Kurt fiddles with the iPod hookup and they’re not doing this because they always have, they’re doing this because this is what they _do_. It makes the too-intense look on Blaine’s face when they’re stopped at a stoplight and Katy Perry comes up on shuffle not threatening at all, and Kurt just grins at him and rolls the windows down and sings along.

“So, do you know what you’re singing yet? For Regionals?”

Blaine gives him an eye-rolled look over the cinnamon shaker and takes the tray back from him. “Do we ever?”

“I figured that maybe, you know, previous years’ experience had finally sunk in?”

“I love your optimism,” Blaine says, and smiles at him, and nudges out a chair for Kurt with his foot.

“And here I thought you were the optimist.” 

Blaine’s smile, when Kurt takes his coffee from him, is warm. “I’m kind of hoping we’ll do some original songs, actually.”

“Really? Schue’s not making you guys do another last-minute songwriting seminar, is he? Because I’m never going to forgive him for locking us in the hotel in New York to write.”

“You snuck out of the hotel and wandered around the city with Rachel.”

“Mm.” Kurt sniffs, and Blaine grins at him. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. But no, it’s not Mr. Schue - Marley’s written a lot of songs, actually, and I think she wants to try to use them for the competition.”

“Marley, really? The shy one?”

“Mhmm.” Blaine nods and swallows a sip of coffee. “People can surprise you, you know.”

“How well I know it.” Under the table, Kurt knocks his knee into Blaine’s. “That sounds nice.”

“It should be. It’s been fun, working with all the new kids this year. I think I’ve learned a lot - I think we all have.”

Kurt smiles. “It’s always good to try new things. I’m glad you’re here, though.”

Blaine touches the back of Kurt’s hand before he picks up his cup. “Me too.”

“Though you should know, our track record with original songs is - mixed.”

“Ah, yes, That Kiss. I may have heard stories.” Blaine rolls his cup between his palms. “We have a good group this year. I think we’ll be able to keep personal drama to a minimum.”

“Oh my god, yes, you _are_ the optimist.”

“I like to think that good things can happen.” Blaine’s face is a study in nervous earnestness, and maybe it should scare Kurt, but it doesn’t. Blaine’s leading up to something, sometime soon, and Kurt’s not sure what, but he doesn’t feel the need to shut him down, to derail the conversation, to reiterate for the hundredth time that _we are not together._ Kurt’s over it, finally, the hurt and the heartache, and all he has to do now is move forward.

Blaine’s hand is there on the table, resting easy and open, and it’s easy to take it in his own. Kurt says, and it’s a weight off his chest, clear skies, a thousand open doors, that he _means_ it - “Anything is possible.”

*


End file.
